


Pegasus

by RhinoHill



Series: Pegasus [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Cats!, F/M, Feel-good, Gentle fluff, Humour, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27147509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhinoHill/pseuds/RhinoHill
Summary: It's Jack's last mission with SG-1 before he takes the General's chair.As he watches the sunrise with the person whose closeness he'll miss more than anything, Jack comes up with a plan.--oOo--
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Series: Pegasus [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007430
Comments: 238
Kudos: 150





	1. Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> This soft, fluffy romance started as a one-shot exercise during a writers' conference, but it's turned into a story of love and redemption.
> 
> I hope it brings you sighs and smiles!
> 
> 😘

The twin moons speak to me with new significance tonight.

It's my final watch as head of SG-1 before I take on the mantle of General.

I'm still not sure why anyone thought I would be good enough for the role. I don’t do politics. I barely do people. All I do is protect my team. And the only reason I accepted the promotion in the end is because I don’t want a desk jockey dickhead with zero understanding of the gate teams’ work to put them in danger through stupid decisions.

So this is my final night. And my final watch. In half an hour, Carter will relieve me for the dawn watch.

I wonder if she would mind me asking to stay and end the last night with her.

A polite rustle in the bushes behind me, and her boots appear in the dust next to my feet.

She's fully dressed.

“Carter. You’re early.”

I keep my tone carefully neutral to hide the way my heart leans towards her whenever she appears. I will miss the adventure of being off-world. Of course. But wrapped up in that is the fact that I'll miss hanging out with her, having excuses for murmured conversations in the middle of the night when a foreign moon above us stops time.

She shrugs lightly, but her words are hesitant.

“Do you mind if I join you for the last bit of your watch, Sir?”

A pinprick of light sparks in the centre of my chest.

As an answer, I shift sideways against the fallen log my back is leaning against and pat the dust next to my left hip.

Silently, she settle next to me, mimicking my posture. Back against the old tree trunk, elbows resting on drawn-up knees. The tip of her right boot comes to rest against my left.

I cannot tear my eyes away from that small intimacy.

Minutes pass while she looks at the moon and I look at our boots in the dust.

She's the one to break the silence.

“Are you looking forward to the new role, Sir?”

The corner of my mouth tweaks upwards. It's the one question no-one has asked me yet.

I tap the fingers of my right hand over the back of my left hand as I consider how to respond.

Her head turns, her eyes coming to rest on my nervous motion.

“That much, huh?” Her words are soft with sympathy.

As usual, she sees straight into my soul.

With a sigh, my hands quieten.

Her hands brace against the ground and she shifts until her leg comes to rest against mine, warm in the night air despite our uniforms.

“If it’s any consolation, the only thing that makes me feel safer than having you here with us, is having you in charge back home.”

She keeps her eyes trained on my hands, but I can hear her nervous swallow.

Seconds stretch between us.

“But I’ll miss this,” she whispers.

What can I say in response? How can I tell her that the quiet moments we share become my most precious memories, that they lull me to sleep and slow my hammering heart after nightmares?

I glance in her direction. Her eyes are still resolutely on my hands.

“Me too,” I mutter.

She turns her head to face me, a question in her eyes.

Her lips are slightly parted.

She’s close enough to kiss.

If I lean an inch in her direction, our lips will touch.

I’m a fly trapped in amber.

A soft, sharp peep from her watch announces five minutes to the start of her shift.

I can’t miss the slight droop of her shoulders as she twists away to turn it off.

Her disappointment should gut me, but it makes me want to shout.

She wanted me to kiss her.

She wanted me to kiss her.

“Hey, Carter, uh, d’ya want some coffee?”

Slight confusion creases her forehead before she answers.

“Sure, thank you, Sir.”

I scoot away and busy myself with mugs and water to douse the flames of happiness and anger warring in me. Happiness that she looked at me like that. Anger that I let the moment pass.

Just after she silences the alarm that signals the start of her shift, I carry our two mugs back to her.

“Two mugs, sir?” She asks as I sink back down beside her. Her voice is more guarded than before. I’ve hurt her. I flinch against the truth.

“Mind if I join ya? I’m not really tired.” I stretch my leg out in the dust. “And I wouldn’t mind seeing one more foreign sunrise.”

She smiles agreement at me before looking at the dark horizon.

Our mugs steam on as I try to form words.

“Y’know, one good thing could come from this,” I say as nonchalantly as I can manage.

“You could get a cat or sumthin’ if you want.”

Her head pulls back in surprise.

Great. She thinks I’m losing my mind.

“I mean, I know you didn’t want to replace Schroedinger because we’re away so much.”

Shit. I sound like I think I live with her. Shit, shit, shit. I fumble on.

“I mean the team. Off world. At the same time. Uh.”

Her cheek dimples at my mortified explanations. She takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim of her mug.

“I’ll be tied to my desk. So if you want to get another cat I could swing past your house to feed it when you’re away. I mean, if you want. If you don’t have people to, unless you already have people to…” I stumble to mortified silence.

Fuck.

“Joint custody?” Her voice is pitched lower than usual and is so soft I have to lean in to hear.

I risk another surreptitious glance.

She’s smiling at the dust between her feet.

Her leg shifts until the side of her knee presses into mine.

Together, we watch dawn’s glow spreading across the horizon.


	2. Mr Carter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just got a friend I want ya to meet,” I blurt out as her fingers reach for my forehead to take my temperature.
> 
> I mean, it’s not a complete lie. He’ll become a friend. 
> 
> I hope.
> 
> If she likes broken, old things as much as I hope she does.
> 
> A single butterfly puts on tap shoes in the pit of my stomach and unfurls her long legs.
> 
> \--oOo--

“Hey, Carter? How much work ya got left there?”

She looks up in confusion at my face where I peek around her lab door.

Her lips are slightly parted - the same way they looked off-world this morning in the pre-dawn darkness when she wanted me to kiss her.

_When she wanted me to kiss her._

A flush of heat creeps up my chest and over my neck.

“Sir? Did you need something? I mean, this can wait.”

She’s already folding her laptop screen down and rising.

Crap. She’s coming towards me, which means soon the door shielding her from my body’s very obvious reaction to her lips will no longer be between us.

The hot pink fever rises further.

Shit!

“Sir?” Her hand is on the opposing doorknob now, pulling gently as I desperately tug back.

“Sir, is everything all right? Are you feeling feverish? Do you need help?”

Concern etches lines around her eyes.

She thinks the base is on fire, for fuck’s sake!

“NO! Yes! No! Ah.”

Why in the name of all that is unholy am I _blushing?_

“I just got a friend I want ya to meet,” I blurt out as her fingers reach for my forehead to take my temperature.

I mean, it’s not a complete lie. He’ll become a friend.

I hope.

If she likes broken, old things as much as I hope she does.

A single butterfly puts on tap shoes in the pit of my stomach and unfurls her long legs.

—oOo—

The rows of cages at the animal shelter march on, a litany of concrete and thrown-away lives.

I grip her hand a little more tightly.

The trip here in my truck was the hardest part.

We can march side by side in complete contentment when we’re on mission, but somehow I couldn’t get the flush and flutter that her lips evoked to die away back on earth.

And her lips were right there. Attached to her face.

My answers had become more and more terse until she’d given up her attempts at awkward small-talk and stared silently out of the window, her fingers worrying each other in her lap.

A brunette in a shelter-branded t-shirt sporting the name-badge CHRISTIE had greeted us, taking in Carter’s slender jean-wrapped legs and clear blue eyes before looking a little disappointedly at me.

The butterfly in my gut had kicked her legs up high about that. Disappointing someone because she thought we were a couple.

“Hi. I emailed earlier today about Goliath,” I’d opened conversation.

“Colonel Carter?”

Christie had looked hopefully at me, only to snap her eyes back at Sam when she issued a quiet “yes.”

Christie’s mouth had formed a silent O before she shook herself back into hostess mode.

“Right, well it’s lovely to meet you both,” she’d efficiently enthused, spinning on her heel.

“Colonel and Mister Carter, please do follow me. The adult cats are just along here.”

In my stomach, the butterfly had broken into a jig.

Mister Carter.

I could work with that. I could spend several boring meetings dreaming about it, too.

I’d winked broadly at Carter, mouthed: “play along,” and grabbed her hand as she walked and I strutted after Christie.

But the repeated beat of soulful furry faces abandoned behind bars is getting to me.

My strut slows to solemn steps.

I feel her eyes on mine, glance over.

A kind smile curves her face into a sunrise.

She gives my hand a silent squeeze.

“So does your friend work here?” She asks quietly as Christie recites the shelter’s history at us.

For a second, I wonder whether I can call the shelter volunteer who helped us adopt Charlie’s dog ten years ago a friend, but the moment passes. I can’t even remember his name.

I decide to go with honesty.

“Not exactly. He’s more of an… inmate. That I met online.”

The photo of the grizzled ginger tom with the chewed-up ear and the shining pink scar across his left eye rises in my mind.

If she likes him, Carter’s cat and I will have matching eyebrows.

I hope she likes him.

Christie slows in front of the final concrete run.

From his platform in the late-afternoon sun, a basking cat swivels his head to take us in, the tip of an orange and white tail flicking in slow consideration.

“Oh!”

Carter’s soft exclamation is the cue the butterfly in my gut needs to launch into a drunken sailor’s dance.

I hang back as Christie opens the run door bearing his name — Goliath — and leads the way in.

The tom stretches luxuriously and sniffs Carter’s nose when she crouches down in front of him to tickle the soft fur behind his undamaged ear. He releases a purr so loud I can hear it from the entrance.

 _Damn right, she smells good enough to purr about,_ I think at the cat.

Goliath reaches one paw onto her shoulder, then the other, and while both women gasp in surprise, he launches his rear end off the platform and into her arms.

Carter gives a delighted giggle, shifting her grip to support his hips while he tucks his head into that spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

He looks fucking smug.

As he should. That’s the best spot on her body.

At least of the ones I’ve been allowed to find.

_Mr Carter._

My own smile grows wider as I remember that and watch the happiness on Carter’s face.

“Wow. You definitely know your wife, Mr Carter. I’ve been here three years and I’ve never seen an adult cat take to someone quite this well!”

Christie swivels on her heels, suddenly serious.

“You have to take him. He has to be with you.”

And the smugness dries in my mouth. How can she stand to work with so many unwanted souls?

“Of course we will. I’m already in love.” Carter’s voice is as gentle as her smile when she turns to face me, bouncing Goliath on her arm like a baby.

“Thank you,” she mouths.


	3. Home inspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mister Carter, I presume? I’m Eileen.” She holds out a hand before noticing my two mugs and dropping it to her side.
> 
> “Nice to meet ya, Eileen. Can I make you a cup fo coffee? Tea? While Sam shows you around? Here ya go, Car—“ crap “—hon.”
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having SO much fun with this. 
> 
> Thanks for reading along!  
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

“Really, Carter? This is relaxing Saturday reading? Quantum Physics Quarterly?”

I love the confused little frown that scrunches her eyebrows down over her eyes as she looks up from her journal.

We’re perched on opposite ends of her couch, the sports section of the Saturday paper rustling in my hands. She’s kicked off her loafers and has her feet tucked up under her, finally seeming to relax into my presence.

For the thirtieth time since we left the shelter yesterday, guilt prickles in the back of my throat. I should have gently set Christie straight when she filled in the adoption form for Goliath, but the way Sam’s eyes had shone with soft happiness had held me in thrall. I couldn’t bring myself to let go of her hand. And telling Christe we’re _not_ a couple while clinging to her fingers would have been awkward.

Sam’s fears had surfaced in my truck on the way back to base to collect her car.

“My yard’s not fully fenced. He can jump over the boundary wall if he climbs the sycamore. What if I fail the inspection?” She had fretted, her hands writhing on her lap.

“Carter, the enclosed yard thing is for a dog. You’re not gonna fail the home inspection,” I had joked. “Like it’s even possible for you to ever fail any test!”

The terror in the look she turned on me had turned the words to ash in my mouth.

A snippet of remembered conversation between her and Fraiser years ago had tugged at my brain. _I don’t think I’d know how to be a mother,_ she had said, such intense sadness lacing the words that I had had to lean my head back against the cold concrete wall to calm my thudding heart.

I have no idea what could make her feel this way. Care oozes out of her with every movement. But yesterday, in my truck, I couldn’t let it go. I had reached for her hand.

“Hey,” I had said as gently as I could, “you’ll make an amazing cat mom. Goliath is already in love with ya. And your house is perfect for him. Trust me.”

The look of terror had faded into a deeper sadness.

“Carter, trust me. I’ve been through this. We got Charlie’s dog from them.”

She had remained silent, but her fingers had tightened a fraction in mine.

I hadn’t planned on telling her that. Like I hadn’t planned to turn the truck around and head back into town, towards the giant PetsMart near her house.

“Tell ya what. Let’s get your house set up for him. That’ll make it feel more real. And it’ll impress the pants off the inspector from the shelter when she comes tomorrow.”

And so, with her fingers still holding on to me, I had spewed jokes about how badly behaved Charlie’s pup had been until we’d pulled up in the store parking lot.

And even though her hand had slipped out of mine when I opened the truck door, she had walked so close beside me all through the shop that our shoulders had bumped into each other every few paces.

I let my gaze wander around her living space again. It looked like it had been built with a cat in mind. A sisal-wrapped cat tree with three separate platforms and hideouts had replaced one of her occasional tables, and on one of the armchairs, the fluffiest cat bed in a warm shade of chocolate waited for an occupant. A wicker basket held five different cat toys, and in the kitchen a drinking fountain gurgled next to a brand new food bowl — extra wide to avoid whisker fatigue.

I had never even heard of the term before. How could she possibly have doubts about her ability as a parent?

“It’s fun to read about discoveries that may impact our work, but isn’t directly linked. Sometimes if gives me ideas for solving problems, too.”

Her voice drags me back into the room.

Right. She’s telling me why she’s reading something with a title that gives me a headache for relaxation on a weekend.

I roll my eyes at her.

“Ya know, it’s a good thing I’m here for intellectual balance,” I tease. “Cat with a dramatic scar on his face, with a military genius as only parent. The inspector may think you’re plotting to take over the world and demand a ransom of—“ my pinkie finger shoots to the corner of my mouth “—one _million_ dollars.”

Her soft chuckle lifts my stomach high into my chest.

Last night, as we’d finished setting up the second litter tray and third ridiculously soft cat bed and sunk onto the couch to enjoy a Friday night beer, she’d suddenly swallowed and blurted the question: would I be here today for the home inspection?

My questions about her boyfriend — fiancé? — had faltered on my lips.

“If you want me here, then sure. Youbetcha.” I’d found myself saying instead.

But now a thought, a twisted, selfish thought, raised its head. I had to see her bathroom. Not the guest bathroom. Hers.

“Hey, you want a cup of tea?” I ask innocently.

Her feet start unfolding even before she speaks.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Can I make you something?”

I wave her back down.

“I offered. I can find my way around yer kitchen.” I cock an eyebrow. “Especially since I’m down as Mr Carter.”

Her cheeks colour slightly, but she tucks her legs back under her.

“I’d love a cup,” she gives that unsure half-smile that turns my belly into a whirlpool. “And there’s more beer for you in the fridge.”

With the boiling kettle to cover my footsteps, I walk quietly down the hallway to her bedroom.

I’d been in here with her only last night, setting up a cat bed, and the door is ajar, but the guilt that flares in my gut is red hot.

There, on the nightstand, is the small velvet box with the engagement ring. The one Pete had given her but she has never worn in front of me. The one she has never told me about but I heard about from Teal’c.

My mouth pulls into a tighter line as I duck my head into her bathroom.

Two toothbrushes stare back at me.

My stomach thumps to my feet.

Of course he’d leave a toothbrush here. He’s asked her to marry him, for God’s sake. What was I expecting? And it’s not like I’m celibate. I had dinner with Kerry only last weekend.

Still, the sun streaming in through the windows feels a little cooler as I head back to the kitchen.

I’m dropping a teabag into her pre-warmed mug when a car pulls up next to my truck in the drive. A lady who looks exactly like a social worker gets out and gathers a clipboard from the passenger seat.

“Home inspector’s here,” I call out, tucking my beer back in the fridge and switching on the coffee machine instead. “Remember, don’t mention the million dollar ransom!”

I mooch around the kitchen until her tea is dark tannin brown and my mug is full of coffee, before wandering into the hallway where she’s chatting to the inspector.

“Mister Carter, I presume? I’m Eileen.” She holds out a hand before noticing my two mugs and dropping it to her side.

“Nice to meet ya, Eileen. Can I make you a cup fo coffee? Tea? While Sam shows you around? Here ya go, Car—“ _crap_ “—hon.”

Shit. The kitchen is definitely the place for me to be.

I flee with my mug Eileen’s request for sweet tea.

Half an hour later, as Eileen waves a cheerful goodbye from her car, I can ’t resist slinging my arm around Carter’s shoulder where we stand on the verandah.

“See? Told ya it would be a piece of cake.”

Her grin dazzles me.

“I can’t believe we get to fetch him tomorrow!”

Suddenly, she quietens.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t mean to.”

She stares at the floor between her feet.

“Don’t mean to what?” I ask, genuinely uncertain what she’s on about.

“You must have other plans. You’ve already done so much to help me get Goliath.”

Her should is warm under my hand.

I pull her closer playfully.

“I think my couch will cope with the disappointment of me standing her up.”

My voice comes out gruff.

“What time am I picking you up tomorrow to go fetch him?”


	4. Pegasus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the smoothest homecoming for Goliath and his new parents.
> 
> \--oOo--

Goliath distinctly does _not_ like the cat carrier.

Or maybe he just resents having been dislodged from his position in Carter’s arms.

I mean, the cat’s got a point.

She’s wearing a soft apricot v-neck sweater today that reveals a little more of her skin than her usual round-necked shirts and that looks as soft as down. The instant he saw us approaching his run with the cat carrier, he let out a contented chirp and leaped up onto the platform he had been on yesterday, ready to do his waddle-jump into her arms. And when I’d tickled him behind the ear that wasn’t yet buried in her neck, he’d half-closed his eyes and snuggled in deeper.

If I’d been that deep in her embrace, I would also have howled like a demon spun up from hell at being yanked away and stuck in a carrier.

Still, I’m not sure my ears are going to hold out all the way home.

Carter’s also looking more insecure than I’ve seen her since that day I met her dad.

Shit. I hope she isn’t thinking some bullshit about her not being a good mother because of this.

On the next quiet stretch of road, I pull the truck onto the shoulder and cut the engine.

“Carter, why don’t you let him out?”

I have to shout to be heard above the tortured, furious cat screams.

“We can’t sir! He may escape!” She yells back.

At the sound of her voice, one ginger paw reaches through the bars at the front of the carrier and swipes at the air. The howling redoubles, rising in both pitch and volume.

Christ. I didn’t think that was possible.

“My brain might explode!” I holler back. “Besides, the cabin’s waterproof! He can’t get out unless his screeching shatters the windows!”

Still looking nervous as a new recruit, she slowly unlatches the carrier door and opens it a crack.

A head-butt from the inside slams the door against its hinges and Goliath bounds out, and straight onto her lap, plastering himself against her chest and burying his head in her neck.

The compact body trembles in her arms.

The poor thing wasn’t angry.

He was petrified.

“Oh, little buddy, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to scare ya,” I murmur, smoothing the tip of my index finger over the crown of his head again and again; an imitation of what I did to ease Charlie’s night terrors. “You’re ok. You’re ok. Carter’s got you. You’re going home. We won’t let you go.”

Gradually, the shaking subsides.

Without changing the tone of my soothing words, I lift my head to find her eyes.

She’s staring at me with compassion that I can’t process right this instant. Instead, I focus on the task in hand.

“I’m gonna fire up the engine and then come back to stroke him some more, ok? In case it's the sound that scares him,” I murmur at her, waiting to see her nod before I move my hand away from his head.

He startles when the truck shudders back to life, but only clings on more tightly, and the howling doesn’t recommence.

Thank God.

After another minute of gentle chatter which I hope she realises is aimed at the cat in her arms rather than at her cleavage, I pull back onto the road.

We take turns to tell him about the toys and snacks waiting for him at home as I carefully navigate the road to her place.

As I open the passenger door and she slowly manoeuvres out with her precious living parcel cradled against her chest, a vivid memory flashes at me. Sara, stepping out of the car with a tiny Charlie swaddled in her arms. Bringing him home had been one of the happiest days of my life.

I shake the image away and grab her bag and house keys. I’ll bring the carrier in later. No need for him to see it again so soon.

It feels strangely solemn to unlock her door and hold it open to let them through.

She walks past me with a quick, tense smile of thanks and keeps moving into the lounge, where she leans forward to place him on the ground next to one of his litter boxes, just as Christie had instructed.

A sigh rushes out of her as he shakes himself off and sets about sniffing the litter box and the cat tree next to it.

For a moment, she crouches on the floor, her back to me, unmoving.

“I think I need a beer.”

Her voice is unsteady. As if she’s fighting tears.

“Gotcha.”

Frankly, with the past still swirling behind my eyes, I could use one, too.

I head to the kitchen and hang out a little longer than needed to give her space to find her composure. I know from her time with Cass that she tries not to let us see her tears.

On a whim, I pull open her pantry door and hunt till I find a bottle of brandy. That’ll do. I pour each of us a stiff shot and carry all four drinks into the lounge.

She’s back on her corner of the couch, palms pressed together between her knees, watching Goliath as he pokes around, exploring the new room.

I hand her the brandy first.

“Knock it back. It’ll take some of the ringing in your ears away. I hope.”

She does what I ask without comment, then folds her body forward dejectedly again.

Worry starts to lick at my gut.

I sink down next to her, my knee just brushing hers.

“That wasn’t the best start to motherhood,” she mumbles at the floor.

I am suddenly so grateful that I overheard her conversation with Fraiser. Without hearing that, four years ago, I would have assumed she was making a joke.

I put my beer down and drape my arm over her shoulders.

“You held a small, terrified life and calmed it down just by being near. That’s the best possible start to motherhood.”

She doesn’t answer, but her head comes to rest against my arm.

Soft paws pad closer. Goliath’s head appears between my knees, his head tilting this way and that in a motion that I assume helps him see past the damage in his left eye, but that looks for all the world as if he’s doing a slow-motion Bollywood dance.

“Hey, little buddy, you want in on the action?” I pat my thigh.

With a contented chirp, he settles the length of his body across both of our laps and launches into a thundering purr.

Eventually, the brandy and beer take effect. She leans back comfortably and we chat about the team, thanksgiving plans, our childhood pets.

Our legs stay glued together, weighed down by a gently snoring cat.

“I was thinking of calling him something different,” she offers into a silence. “Goliath was a big bully who is only famous for getting killed. I think he deserves a luckier name.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Hadn’t really thought of that, but it does seem a little rude,” I comment. “So, what did you have in mind?”

Her shoulder lifts, drops.

“I was thinking, maybe… Pegasus? The winged horse who carries fire to the gods.”

_And the name of the galaxy housing Atlantis, the city-ship to which many of the best bodies and minds at the SGC have requested transfers._

I swallow, considering what she may be trying to tell me.

“You want to be posted to Atlantis.”

I keep my voice quiet and my eyes on Goliath as I say it. Even though I know that would mean losing her.

“No.”

“No?” I twist my head to look at her.

“No. I mean because he’s orange like fire.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Her eyes are boring into mine. Behind the lingering doubt, something else shines. The look she gave me in the car. Open, and vulnerable. Understanding. It’s a look I struggle to take in. But I can’t move my eyes off her face as she speaks again.

“While you’re at the SGC, I want to be here too.” Her tongue darts out between her lips. “Sir.”


	5. Peach Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack settles into his role as cat dad while Sam's off-world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little piece of chocolate cake for everyone having a bitter day xo
> 
> \--oOo--

The first time I go into her house while she’s off-world clenches my gut with exactly the same excitement as if feel before I crest a rise on a new planet.

Except this time the weapon in my hand is her front door key.

And the ambush comes from a cat the colour of fire who waddle-runs at me, meowing indignantly all the way, and demands to be picked up and hugged.

For a guy who’s clearly seen his share of combat, he’s remarkably keen on being bounced on my hip, his good ear tucked into the crook of my neck just as he does with her. Though I find myself apologising for not smelling nearly as nice.

His answer is a grumpy purr. _As long as you realise you’re a poor second,_ I can imagine him saying.

I feed him, check his water, switch on a few lights to make the house look cozy for him.

As I put his bag of pellets back into the pantry, a note on the kitchen island catches my eye.

A single sheet of white paper, with a few lines of her writing.

_Hi Sir,_

_Thanks again for doing this._

_I told Pegasus you were doing it for the joy his conversation, but he insisted that you need better compensation._

_He’s right, of course!_

_I hope you like peach pie._

_It’s next to your beer in the fridge (I was worried he may like peach pie too)_

_Sam_

I open the fridge door.

Fresh peaches with blushing skin spiral neatly over an oozing custard cream filling.

It’s still in the pie dish she baked it in.

She made me peach pie.

The dish is cold against my skin, solid against the butterfly wings fluttering in my stomach.

I don’t give a shit that I’ve got a desk job that burns negative calories. I’m having peach pie for dinner.

“Hey, little buddy,” I chat to the cat contorting himself around my feet, “wanna watch a bit of the game with me while I eat your mom’s pie?”

I’m doing it for him, really. You know. To keep him company.

But the pie tastes like a childhood holiday.

When the closing credits of The Simpsons scrolls up her TV’s screen two days later and I straighten her couch pillows to the state they were in before I started sharing TV dinners with her cat, Pegasus cocks his head at me in silent reproach.

“No, Peg. Trust me. The first hug you get from her, you’ll realise you’re better off with her home. You’ll see. You’ll forget all about me.”

I reach down to tickle the spot behind his mangled ear. He particularly likes being scratched there. I wonder if has some nerve damage, too. There’s a spot in the scar on my left thigh that constantly itches.

Before I leave, I run my hand over the fresh sheet of paper on her kitchen island,

_Welcome home, mom,_

_Jack said you’d be horrified by his baking, especially now that he knows how good your peach pie tastes._

_But we thought you may not want to cook on your first night back._

_He left your dinner in the oven, because I liked the smell._

_Peg_

The number that flashes on my phone screen at 10:30pm the following night is from a landline in her part of town.

I know it’s her by the butterflies in my stomach.

“O’Neill,” I play it safe in case I’m wrong.

Her voice is muffled round the edges, the way I remember from long teenage conversations with girls I ached for on the phone in my parents’ kitchen.

“Hey, sir,”

I can’t stop my smile.

“Hey, Carter. Everything ok with Peg?”

“Everything’s great. Thank you. Again.”

An image invades my mind. The only phone I saw in her house is next to her bed. She’s in bed, a fiery orange cat curled into a contented croissant next to her, one hand absently stroking him as shespeaks.

“Pegasus tells me it was definitely his idea to get me dinner,” she continues, “but he admits you helped a little with the execution.”

“I’m surprised he’s still saying nice things about me,” I counter. “He was not impressed when I put it out of his reach. Next time he tells you to order twelve lobster tails for his dad, I promise, he’ll be lying.”

Her laughter loosens a knot in my chest that has been tight for so long, I had stopped noticing it was there.

The next time she’s off-world, a fully frosted chocolate cake waits for me next to Peg's cat food in her pantry. In the swirls of rich, dark icing on the top, seven pecan nuts mark the positions of the chevrons on the Stargate. I eat dinner on her couch every night she’s gone and educate Pegasus about hockey and The Simpsons. Each night, I have a slice of cake for dessert.

On the day before she’s due back, I sneak a bowl of blue jello out of the commissary and leave it in the fridge, on top of her favourite pizza.

I’m having dinner with Kerry on the night she returns, but I vow I won’t answer her call.

Not that she’ll call.

She did it the first time, because it wasn’t routine yet. It’s normal now.

I startle when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

It’s barely 9pm. And she’s calling from her cell.

“Sorry,” I mumble at Kerry as I swipe at the screen.

“Carter?”

“Sir.”

Something’s wrong.

“What’s wrong?” I dump my napkin onto the plate of food in front of me.

“It’s under control, sir. I. I just thought you should know. I’m at the vet. With Pegasus.”


	6. Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her tongue darts out between her lips as her eyes travel from my white collared shirt to the waistband of my slacks.
> 
> “You were somewhere. I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, and backs away, guilt suddenly slimy and cold between us. “Can I call a cab to take you back to your truck?”
> 
> Yes. I was somewhere. I was on a date with Kerry from the CIA who looked straight into my soul when I started making excuses about the cat I’d been looking after for a colleague.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for keeping you waiting longer than intended, unicorns. 
> 
> While I was keeping vigil over the first election results, my cat decided we, too, need a trip to the emergency vet.
> 
> Luckily she is now much better and sleeping peacefully.
> 
> I hope this chapter keeps some of you fellow fretters about the USA company on our joint vigil.  
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

The emergency vet’s waiting room is deserted when I push through the doors.

The receptionist looks up from her romance novel.

Her eyes travel over my button-down shirt and slacks, reminding me how uncomfortable I feel in them.

Her eyes linger in the region of my hips, where my fingers dangle helplessly.

She curls her lip at me, clearly wondering what to say.

I mean, I know I don’t normally dress this way, but surely I don’t look _that_ strange? And what’s with her staring at my hands like that?

“Um, you here for a veterinary emergency?” She eventually offers.

OH! She was staring at my hands because she was expecting them to be holding a dog leash.

Right.

Right.

“Yeah,” I step up to the counter, relieved to have cleared that out of the way.

“My…”

And fucked if I’m not stuck again.

What is she? How do I say what she is?

My colleague who I adore? _Nope._

My special friend? _Ugh. NO._

The receptionist is beginning to look as if she’s considering pressing the panic button.

A lightbulb fizzles on dimly in the back of my brain.

“Cat. My cat is here. Big. Mean. Orange. Goes by Pegasus?”

Her face relaxes.

“Oh! Mr Carter!”

Fuck me. Why didn’t I just lead with that?

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Mr Carter.”

“They’re just with the doctor.” She flashes a happy grin at me. “Consulting room one. Go on in.”

The first thing that catches me is how small he looks in the middle of the steel table.

He takes up so much space when he’s lounging on the couch or prowling the kitchen demanding food.

The next thing is how drawn her face is.

Then I notice his eyes.

They’re swivelling side to side non-stop. Slow to the right, a quick flick to the left, slow to the right.

Over and over.

My dinner doesn’t want to stay in my stomach.

Peg lets out a slurred meow and wobbles to his feet when he spots me. When he’s standing, his entire head moves from side to side, as if to counter his eyes.

He takes one un-coordinated step towards me before his legs tangle in each other and he sinks back down.

“Hey, Si… Jack.” Her hands cradle his head, slowing the involuntary weaving. She offers a sad smile. “Thank you for coming.”

I don’t even try to find the words, just put my arm loosely around her waist, easing my hip into contact with hers to anchor my racing thoughts.

“Doctor? What is wrong with him?” I ask.

The vet pushes her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose.

“It appears Pegasus has suffered a Transient Ischemic Attack,” she opines.

I pull my head back at the terms.

“That some kinda poisoning, doc?”

She smiles wanly.

“No. It’s a type of miniature stroke caused by a temporary lack of blood flow to a part of the brain. We’re not quite sure what causes it.”

All the blood drains to my feet.

“Wait. He’s had a stroke?” I tilt forward, rest my forehead softly on his. “Oh, little buddy. I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

His head moves gently from side to side against my face.

I feel Carter’s hand settling on my shoulder.

“Not as bad as a real stroke,” she says softly, and my whole being hangs on to the hope her words brings.

“No, not as bad as a real stroke,” the vet repeats her words. “Most animals recover fully from TIAs within a day or so. They aren’t caused by clots like human strokes, so the residual damage is not nearly as big.”

Only every fifth word sinks in, But I cling to two of them.

“Recover fully?”

I still can’t bring myself to lift my head from his. Carter’s hand squeezes my shoulder.

“Yes,” the vet repeats. “Fully. We’ve given him a tranquilliser to keep him calm, but his blood tests are normal. He’s well enough to go home with you as long as you don’t mind watching him overnight. Your wife knows the warning signs to look out for.”

I straighten, feeling a little unsteady with relief.

Peg stares up at me, his head doing an exaggerated Bollywood wobble, and tries to rise to his feet again.

“Easy, tiger.” I lift him gently and cradle him against my chest, tucking his head into the crook of my neck.

“You say you only adopted him two weeks ago?” The vet asks.

Carter nods.

“It’s remarkable for an adult cat to bond so quickly with his new family,” she says, crossing her arms across her chest.

“We share a sense of humour,” I blurt defensively.

“A sense of humour.” Suddenly, the vet looks exactly like my memory of Fraiser. Maybe it’s a course they take in med school. Or vet school. Whatever.

I shrug. “Sure. Peg and I both like The Simpsons.” I cock my head towards Carter. “And _she_ likes hanging out with both of us, which is the really hilarious thing. Ouch!” I moan as her elbow connects with my ribs.

At her house, she walks around to the passenger door of her car and holds it open to let me climb out without disturbing the gently snoring furry body against my chest. The tranquillisers have clearly kicked in.

Inside the open front door, she hesitates.

“Thank you for coming through, Sir.”

All the way home from the vet, we’ve spoken about him.

This sentence is different.

Her tongue darts out between her lips as her eyes travel from my white collared shirt to the waistband of my slacks.

“You were somewhere. I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, and backs away, guilt suddenly slimy and cold between us. “Can I call a cab to take you back to your truck?”

Yes. I was somewhere. I was on a date with Kerry from the CIA who looked straight into my soul when I started making excuses about the cat I’d been looking after for a colleague.

_Jack, we’re adults,_ she’d said with a shake of her rich brown curls. _Show me the respect of not lying about it? I’ll see you at work._

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d kinda like to stay for a while. Till he’s a little better?”

He face softens into a smile like sunrise.

“I’d appreciate the company.”

She holds the door wide to let me through.

When I sink down on the couch, she disappears without a word and returns with bare feet, an open beer in each hand.

She places mine in my hand so I don’t have to disturb Pegasus, before sitting down next to me and tucking her legs under her. She flicks through the channels until she finds The Simpsons.

Fifteen minutes later, she puts her barely touched beer on the coffee table and leans her head back against the pillow.

There are only three of them on the team now. That means she hasn’t slept for more than four hours a night for the last four days, the whole time they’ve been off-world. As leader, she would have taken the longest watch every night.

I should tell her to go to bed. But I know that I wouldn’t want to leave Peg in another room right now, no matter how much I trusted the person holding him.

I wait until her head lolls to the side in slumber before rising. Cradling the peacefully sleeping cat against my chest, I pad to the spare bedroom to snag a blanket. Back in the lounge, I drape it over her. I mute the television and ease myself back onto the couch next to her.

Heavy with sleep, her hand reaches for me, finding Peg’s fur and then drooping down onto my thigh.

Kerry was right.

Who was I kidding?

Where else in the universe would I rather be?


	7. O'Neal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smell of coffee draws me to the kitchen when I emerge from the bathroom. It helps me forget the state of the white shirt I slept in. The state of the relationship I left behind me in a restaurant last night when she called and said our cat was unwell.
> 
> The state of my heart when I see her hair standing in all directions after a night resting her head on my chest.
> 
> \--oOo--

The thrum of the boat’s outboard motor washes through me. It’s pleasantly warm, the sun’s heat gentle like a blanket, not scorching yet. The water rocks gently on my chest. A soft paw lovingly pats my cheek.

Wait.

A soft paw lovingly…

Pat. Pat.

A furry head shoves itself under my chin with a purr like an outboard motor.

“Grrn-Mhhhhhn.”

I try to keep the cat face out of my mouth as I flail into consciousness.

She’s tucked under my arm, her head resting on my chest.

At the movement, she blinks awake, takes in Peg’s position and smiles knowingly.

“Ah. Did he pat you on the cheek with his paw, or did you get the headbutt in the chin?”

Her voice is low and round with sleep.

Suddenly, she seems to remember herself.

Blinking, she straightens, and I have to stop myself reaching for her warmth.

“Morning, sir,” she adds, dropping her gaze to her lap.

“Both,” I grumble back.

It’s too early for me to be sweet and sleep-rounded. I’m groggy and grumpy and I want to hold her again.

But Peg’s eyes draw me.

I sit up, grasping his head between my palms.

He immediately tries to back out of my grip.

We stare each other down, a nose length apart.

His eyes are perfectly still on mine.

“Carter. He’s okay.” I breathe it, afraid to say the words aloud.

She sinks back down next to me, her cheek brushing mine as she examines his pupils.

It only takes three seconds for him to tire of being stared at by humans. With an indignant chirp, he wiggles backwards and jumps gracefully to the floor. He trots to the doorway leading from the living room to the kitchen and turns, making sure his easily distracted parents stay focused on getting up and serving him breakfast.

His movement are sure and steady. The incoordination from last night is also gone.

“He’s okay,” she whispers, her breath warm on my neck.

“He’s okay!” She wraps her arms around me in a fast, fierce hug before bouncing up.

“I’ll put on coffee.”

I swear there’s a flush on her cheeks as she spins around and heads into the kitchen, chatting to her orange shadow.

The smell of coffee draws me to the kitchen when I emerge from the bathroom. It helps me forget the state of the white shirt I slept in. The state of the relationship I left behind me in a restaurant last night when she called and said our cat was unwell.

The state of my heart when I see her hair standing in all directions after a night resting her head on my chest.

Gratefully, I pour a swirl of cream into my mug.

I drink the stuff black at work. So does she.

But waking up on her couch calls for comfort.

I glance at my watch after enough caffeine has penetrated. It was 2am last time I checked. I must have slept for nearly five hours. Pegasus is due back at the vet in an hour. It’s enough time to finish our coffee and even have toast. But not enough for me to get home and change out of Very Clearly Last Night’s clothes.

As if she’s read my mind, she sets her mug on the island between us.

“Would you like me to take you home before Peg’s vet visit, sir?”

The words fall out before my filter kicks in. “What? No. No, I wanna hear the vet say he’s really over it.” I shuffle my shoulders uncomfortably. “I just dunno what she’ll think of your husband having only one shirt and clearly having slept in it on a Friday night, Colonel Carter.”

I have to stifle the desire to slap my hand over my mouth at the stupidity that just poured out.

She ducks her head, tipping forward over the counter. A deep snort of laughter tears out of her chest.

Her eyes dance with mirth when she glances up at me.

“I think they would have changed shifts by then, sir.”

“Oh.” _Well, duh._

Her eyes wander up and down my torso as she takes a slow sip. It shouldn’t set off the stomach-butterfly-cancan that it does.

“I think I have a shirt that will fit you, though.”

The butterfly dancing girls stumble to an abrupt halt. I would rather go shirtless than wearing anything that belongs to Bloody Pete.

But she’s already gone, her coffee steaming a warning at me from the countertop.

“It’s a bit faded. But it should fit you better than it fits me.”

In her hand is the mustard and purple of an LA Lakers basketball jersey. The other holds a framed, autographed photo of Shaquille O’Neal. _Sam,_ big looping print runs across his chest, _never stop shooting for the stars. Shaq xx_

My head topples sideways to take in her dimpled grin.

“Shaq?” I question.

She gives a dismissive half-shrug, but her dimples deepen.

I unfold the jersey and hold it out in front of me.

_O’Neal 34_

It’s a large expanse of material. It will fall to mid-thigh on me. On her, it would be a dress.

Memorabilia stores sell ladies’ sizes.

A thought forces its way through to the front of my mind.

“Carter, is this _his actual jersey?”_

She flushes.

“Um, I mean, I’ve washed it,” she mumbles.

“One day, when Peg finally convinces you to come fishing, you’re gonna tell me that story, Carter.”

Her flush deepens and she sets the photo down on the counter with less grace than usual, reaching for her mug.

“Not much to tell, sir,” she deflects. “Would you like some toast?”

“Yeah. Sure. Youbetcha.”

She acts as if she thinks that answer relates to the toast.

—oOo—

“It’s okay, little buddy.”

The poor cat is plastered to my chest, despite Sam’s careful driving. He’s definitely not a fan of car rides.

“So, any weekend plans, sir?” She asks as she pulls up at a red light.

I make a show of weighing my options.

“Weeelll,” I drawl, “once I get over the fact that the vet used to think my surname’s Carter and now they think it’s spelt funny…” I pause to give her a chance to smile at my stupid joke. “I guess I’ll enjoy the single life.”

Her face falls.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

Shit. That wasn’t meant to happen.

“I can call Kerry, explain about Pegasus. I’ll apologise. I shouldn’t have called you on a Friday night.”

“Carter, whoa! Hold up! None of this is on you!”

Besides. Kerry is a strong, confident woman. But who can blame anyone for being insecure around someone as beautiful as Sam?

“Ah!” I cut her off as she opens her mouth to interject. “Seriously. Trust me. It’s not you _or_ the cat. It’s all me.”

_It’s the fact that Kerry deserves better than to be a consolation prize for you, Carter._

I clear my throat.

“Honestly, if you hadn’t called, the only difference would have been that we would have made it to dessert before she kicked me to the curb. I should thank ya, really. I hear their peach pie is disappointing.”

Her lips twitch in acknowledgement as she pulls back into the growing Saturday morning traffic.

“How ‘bout you?” I change the subject. “Plans?”

“Meeting Cassie this afternoon. And Pete’s back tomorrow night.”

I nod.

I was wondering where he’d been.

I had no right to hope. I know I had no right to hope.

But the lead dancing butterfly in the pit of my stomach kicks me viciously and slumps into a corner in a sulk.


	8. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t remember moving.  
> But I recognise the dark pleasure twisting at the base of my spine when he gasps for breath, his feet dangling an inch from the floor, my hand pinning his throat.  
> My lips move next to his ear, barely letting enough air out for the whisper to be heard.  
> “And I know worlds outside this galaxy where no-one will find your corpse.” 
> 
> I loosen my fingers enough to let his feet sag to the floor.  
> “Turn off the lights on your way out, Pete,” I toss over my shoulder at him.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the thing.  
> I plan things beautifully and then my characters step in and have their own way.  
> I PROMISE we'll have a happy ending. But Sam and Jack had things to say.
> 
> I'm not asking you to love this. But if it rings true, if it helps someone feel less alone, I'll know they stepped in for a reason.  
> Stay safe, unicorns. And gather the ones you love to your hearts. The world is crueller than it should be.  
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

Her call surprises us mid-game on Sunday evening.

When he sees the frown with which I swipe at the screen, Teal’c mutes the TV.

“Carter. What’s wrong with Peg?”

“He’s fine, sir.”

But she’s not.

She’s not.

Scenarios flash through my head.

Things I wish I didn’t know how to imagine.

I close my eyes against my thoughts as she speaks on.

“Sir, I’m really sorry to ask this. I was wondering if Pegasus could spend the night with you.”

The world slows. I take in every hitch in her breath, every pause, every hesitation over phrasing.

Blood thunders through my brain in slow-motion.

She’s in danger.

“Pete’s allergic to cats.”

She says it calmly, but the last word catches, an upward tweak indicative of fear.

FUCK.

“I forgot to check with him. I’m. I’m sorry, sir.”

She can take any cop in hand-to-hand combat. With one hand tied behind her back. Wearing a dress.

Yet she’s scared.

“O’Neill.”

Teal’c soft rumble seems to come from far away.

I’m standing in the doorway, clenching and unclenching my fist.

I drop the phone from my ear, switch the speaker on.

A witness is a good idea.

“Colonel, I’ve got a coupl’a questions,” I say casually.

The throw-away reference to her rank, combined with my standard cocky challenge to the Goa’uld, is code I desperately hope she catches.

“Sure, General.” Her voice is still tight, but from the use of my title I know she’s understood my intention.

Teal’c steps closer. Together, we stare at the screen in my hand.

“Are you on speakerphone, Carter?” I start.

“No,” comes her soft reply.

I force my heart to slow.

“Is it only you and Pete?”

“Yes.”

“Is he in the room with you?”

A soft sigh escapes her lips and blows a hurricane through my bones. “Yes, sir.”

I close my eyes.

“Carter, is it safe for you to leave?”

I almost whisper the question.

I can hear her swallowing.

“I think it’s best if I stay here, sir.”

There’s a tremor in her voice that sets black rage boiling behind my eyes.

“I’m sure Pete will be okay with him staying for one night. I didn’t mean to disturb you. We can talk tomorrow.”

She’s placating me now. Doubting herself for reaching out.

“Sam.”

I no longer bother to hide the urgency in my words.

“Teal’c and I will be there in fifteen minutes. I have my key. Stay safe, Sam. Please.”

“Thank you,” she says as she breaks the connection.

I know she meant for the whispered thanks to calm me.

But my gun is already in my hand.

Teal’c drives his Range Rover the way he flies. At the speed of light, cornering like a bat out of hell.

Usually I rag him about what would happen if the cops pull him over.

Tonight, I urge him on.

All the lights in her house are on when we pull up.

I don’t wait for him to cut the engine before I’m running to the door in a low crouch.

The knob gives under my hand, and I’m in the bright hallway.

“Carter? It’s the cat-sitter.”

There is no mirth in my words. Or in the finger on the trigger of the Glock in my waistband.

Safety’s off.

Two sets of footsteps approach. She’s holding a growling Peg against her heart. And anger rolls off Pete in self-righteous waves that make me itch to smash his face into the wall.

“Allergic, Pete? Pity,” I greet him.

Well. I’m not going to fucking say hello.

Still.He’s not holding a weapon. And she’s three feet clear of him. Another step, and she’ll be closer to me than she is to him. My finger eases off the trigger.

He smirks when he notices the placement of my hand.

Good. Let him realise I’m ready to shoot.

“How ya doin’, Carter?”

The tension in my tone jangles against the casual words.

“I’m fine, sir. Thanks for coming. Sorry to disturb your Sunday evening, I… I was stupid not to think.”

My head snaps around at the defeated tone in her voice. The tone that tells me she believes her own lie.

The black rage bubbles higher.

Her mouth tugs sideways

“His carrier is just in the spare room. I’ll get it,” she says, moving down the corridor away from us before I can shout about keeping her in my sight, or about how much blood Peg will draw if we try to put him in his carrier.

Teal’c looms in the doorway, his hulk blocking the porch light.

“You bought an elite cat rescue team, Jack,” Pete quips without greeting him.

I don’t bother to answer.

Soft footsteps herald her return.

She sets Peg’s carrier on the floor at her feet and opens the door.

Gently, she dislodges his claws from her shoulder and sets him on the floor.

With a meaningful flick of his tail, he stalks into the carrier and turns to face her, folding his tail neatly around all four paws.

If that isn’t a sign that we need to get her out of here, I’m Mother Goose.

As she rises from securing the carrier door, I throw a look at Teal’c.

He holds the front door wide.

“Say, Colonel, do you still have your grab bag in your car?” I ask her.

We all carry a bag with at least twenty-four hours’ worth of clothes and medication.

I know she doesn’t need medication to see her through the night. But I know, as she does, that this isn’t the question I’m asking.

She nods, a small, deliberate, movement of her head.

Two steps places me within reach of her car keys on the wall hook next to the front door.

I toss them behind me, hearing the muffled chunk of Teal’c’s massive fist enclosing them mid-air.

“Good. Teal’c will get the two of you settled in his car. I’ll follow ya right out.”

I wait for her shadow to disappear from the porch before I lift my eyes to Pete’s.

His hands are in his jean pockets, elbows jauntily wide.

“She’s my fiancée, you know, _General.”_ He spits the title. “You don’t get to swoop and rescue her for much longer.”

I reach slowly for the unfamiliar set of keys sprawled on her hall dresser.

“This yours?”

I take his silence for acquiescence,

Deliberately, I drop my gaze to the keys in my hand, sorting through them one by one until I find the shape of her front door key. Without looking back at him, I twist it away from the rest of his keys.

When I speak, my words drop like stones into a bottomless well.

“Tomorrow morning at seven, Colonel Carter, her cat and I will be back here. You and your toothbrush won’t be. But nothing else will be touched. Do you understand?”

His lip curls into a sneer that makes him look hard for the first time ever.

“I know people, Jack,” he sneers. “I can ruin your career. Drown you in allegations of embezzlement. Double agency. Child abuse. You’ll never work again.”

I don’t remember moving.

But I recognise the dark pleasure twisting at the base of my spine when he gasps for breath, his feet dangling an inch from the floor, my hand pinning his throat.

My lips move next to his ear, barely letting enough air out for the whisper to be heard.

“And I know worlds outside this galaxy where no-one will find your corpse.”

I loosen my fingers enough to let his feet sag to the floor.

“Turn off the lights on your way out, Pete,” I toss over my shoulder at him.

The passenger seat of Teal’c’s Rover is empty.

With a single nod, I walk round to the door behind him and slide in next to Sam and Peg.

The cat is sitting on her lap, squarely facing me, challenge in his eyes.

When I shut the door behind me, he settles stiff-legged into an alert crouch. Even when Teal’c starts the engine, the cat doesn’t move, despite his ears swivelling tight against his skull.

We drive in silence for three blocks before I speak.

“Sam, you don’t have to come to my house if you don’t want to. Is there someone else you want us to drop you with?”

With every passing second, she’s folding herself smaller.

“I didn’t pack Peg’s food,” she whispers. “Or his litter.”

I don’t recognise the woman who blows up suns, who gets Shaquille O’Neal to give her the shirt off his back. Below my heart, a chasm of fury gapes, beckoning me to step in and lose control.

I twist my face away.

“Teal’c, can we make a stop at the Walmart on the next block?” I ask instead.

He nods without hesitation.

When he cuts the engine in the parking lot, she reaches for the door.

His voice stops her.

“Colonel Carter, your cat needs you. Explain the supplies you require and I will bring them.”

He’s gone for five minutes when her sobs tear free.

There are words between them, caught in the gulps of air, but they don’t matter. Words are for tomorrow.

When I lean forward and wrap her in my arms, she yields, lets me lift her legs over my knees and gather her against me like a lost child.

In the nest formed by our thighs, our ginger cat comes to sit as her body shakes with sorrow I can never share and I vibrate with rage I hope she’ll never know.

Long after her shaking subsides, Pegasus holds vigil.


	9. Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “About last night, sir,” she starts while she’s still behind me, “I’m sorry. I owe you an explanation. It’s not what it may have looked like.”
> 
> And she’s spot on with the second cup of coffee. One cup is nowhere near enough to deal with this.
> 
> In fact, I realise as last night’s rage curdles in my veins, I won’t want to hear excuses even after a second cup.
> 
> \--oOo--

I wake her with a mug of coffee, swirled through with cream.

Last night, we hadn’t spoken, except about where to place Peg’s litter box, how much food he needed.

By the time Teal’c had returned to the car with bags of cat supplies, her sobs had subsided into silent tears. She’d stiffened as he’d opened the passenger door and bathed us in sulphur light, but he’d seen us and simply nodded and continued to my house without comment.

Somehow, his immediate understanding had made the twist of pain at Daniel’s absence sharper.

Maybe the shared loss had been what had bound the three of us together as we prepped for the coming night; clearing dishes from the abandoned television dinner before Peg helped himself, ensuring he had seen the litter box in the spare bathroom, setting fresh towels on the dresser in the spare bedroom.

Teal’c had rumbled the first words that dealt with her and not with animal care when he’d lifted her into his embrace before leaving.

“Thank you for trusting us enough to come with us,” he’d said, leaving her rank unspoken for the first time I could remember.

And in the end, that was all that had mattered.

Not how it had started.

Not how it would end.

The fact that she had trusted us when her world had spun out of her control.

It eased the band of dread around my chest, even if it tightened again when she numbly accepted the sleeping pill I offered and sank into my spare bed.

Preparing for the night without words wasn’t unusual for us. We’d done it a thousand times on a hundred worlds; sometimes in the enforced silence of a stakeout, often just from familiarity.

What was different was the deflated person in my bed. She’d never believed in herself as much as I did. But this level of self-defeat was different. It stabbed me in the heart.

Peg seemed to sense it too.

He blotted himself against her chest, purring thunderously, as if sound could cover her sadness.

After a minute watching her, I couldn’t bear it any more.

I had sunk to my knees beside them and placed my hand right next to hers on the thrumming orange chest.

“Take care of your mom, Peg,” I had spoken into the darkness. “She’s more precious than she knows.”

I had watched her from the doorway long after her breathing deepened into the slow rhythm of sleep.

A corner of my heart hoped a good night’s sleep would be all she’d need to snap back Into herself. But her eyes gather up their haunting the second she focuses on the room around her.

I should have known better.

Whatever pushed her to call for help, it was far too big to be fixed by a good night’s sleep. She’s stronger than that.

“There’s toast in the kitchen when you’re ready,” I reach for our off-world morning routine instead, not waiting to see her response before I retreat.

Her hair is damp from a shower and she’s dressed in fresh clothes when she pads into the kitchen ten minutes later. Peg unwraps himself from her legs to bounce onto the counter and inspect my breakfast spread.

She ignores the food and heads for the coffee machine, pouring a cup and dousing it with cream. At least she’s getting a little energy from that, I find myself thinking. She didn’t eat last night.

“About last night, sir,” she starts while she’s still behind me, “I’m sorry. I owe you an explanation. It’s not what it may have looked like.”

And she’s spot on with the second cup of coffee. One cup is nowhere near enough to deal with this.

In fact, I realise as last night’s rage curdles in my veins, I won’t want to hear excuses even after a second cup.

I sweep Peg off the counter and into my arms.

“Listen, mom,” I plunge in the only way I know how. “Dad’s rubbish at this feelings thing. Really. You’ve no idea how small his vocabulary for feelings is.”

I twist Peg’s right front paw in an exasperated circle, describing precisely how dumb I am at emotion.

“But he wants you to know that you don’t owe him an explanation. Not this morning. Not ever. You’re my mom. You wanted to stay here last night. That’s all he needs to know. Sometimes caring for someone as magnificent as me can require a change of scene, after all.”

Her lips part. Above them, her eyebrows draw into pained disbelief.

I power on, desperate to erase the traces of her pain, to make her understand that nothing she says will change my mind about wanting her here.

“Dad also says you need to eat some breakfast.”

Her eyes close over a minuscule smile.

“And he says you should leave work early today to make him another peach pie.”

Her mouth eases into a real grin, even though the pain in her eyes remain.

“Tell your dad not to push his luck, Pegasus,” she mumbles into her mug.


	10. Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not about stars, dad. She needs you to hear about … about Pete.”
> 
> The darkness in her eyes is back.
> 
> I want to gather her against me and kiss the name, the memory, the imprint of him away.
> 
> Instead, I do what the limits of our roles allow. I nod grimly and toe off my shoes.
> 
> “Lead on, Carter,” I say softly. “If you need to get this off your chest, I’ll listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a fluffy chapter.
> 
> More feel good will come in chapter 11.  
> If you're feeling fragile today, maybe wait until chapter 11 is up and read the two together.
> 
> You are nobody's battleground.  
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

I’m tired when I pull up outside her house. It’s close to eight pm and lunch feels days ago.

I think I’ll convince her to order in pizza. Unless she wants to be alone.

I’d understand it if she did. I was surprised when she ducked her head around my office door after our mid-afternoon briefing and asked me to stop by this evening, though I would have tried to find an excuse to check in on them anyway. Her house had seemed untouched when she and I dropped by on the way to the base this morning, but I have felt uncomfortable all day knowing Peg was alone at home. And remembering the defeat in her eyes last night when she followed Teal’c away from Fucking Pete.

She could beat the crap out of the man. But she had to want to. And an ominous tingle in the base off my spine told me she felt she didn’t deserve to win against him.

It sickened me. Made it hard to concentrate on the renewed threat Anubis and the replicators were posing. Built pressure behind my eyes that frayed my temper and tightened my throat.

Friendly yellow light shines through the windows at me. Her curtains are still open and her house glows a welcome.

I knock softly on the front door before testing the knob. It’s locked, and I’m grateful that she’s being careful.

“Carter, Peg, it’s me, just checking in,” I call as I fit my key to the door.

A rapid drumbeat of paws rushes towards me from the lounge, shooting between her legs and waddle-thrusting itself into my arms almost before I have a chance to crouch down and catch the cat in my arms.

“Whoa, Peg. That’s more excited than I’ve seen you in a while, little buddy!” I tickle the spot behind his damaged ear and his purr ramps up to a full throated throb.

Her eyes are drawn and she worries at the sleeves of the dark blue cardigan she’s wearing, but her mouth still eases into a fond smile when she speaks.

“Dad, thank God you’re here, man. Mom’s been driving me crazy with her girl talk.”

“Peg, that’s not girl talk, buddy. That’s quantum astrophysics.”

I rub the ball of my thumb under the tip of his chin and watch his eyes roll back in bliss.

“Though I’m glad I’m no longer the only man in her life who gets lost in the size of her brain.”

A soft sigh of laughter pulls her head sideways, and I dare to hope it’s all she needed.

But she speaks again.

“It’s not about stars, dad. She needs you to hear about … about Pete.”

The darkness in her eyes is back.

I want to gather her against me and kiss the name, the memory, the imprint of him away.

Instead, I do what the limits of our roles allow. I nod grimly and toe off my shoes.

“Lead on, Carter,” I say softly. “If you need to get this off your chest, I’ll listen.”

In hostage situations, we’re trained to watch the room for the decision maker. Often it’s not the leader. Many times, it’s someone in the second rank that people will follow when things fall apart. You can spot them by watching the others. The men holding guns but no power will point their bodies, their feet, their chins, to the person they trust. Take them out, and the group falls apart.

We sit on the couch where three nights ago she curled against me to watch over Peg.

Tonight, he and I sit on the other side of the couch, but our faces, our bodies, our feet, are all focused on her.

She frets at the cuff of her sleeve, looking down, as she begins.

“Sir, I… Pete.”

She sighs heavily.

“It’s not only Pete. But he…”

I’ve never seen her struggling so hard to find words.

Even Peg stops purring.

“Pete had a reason to be angry with me. I’m difficult to be in a relationship with. I love my job, and I’m slow to trust. And. I never wanted Pete to get us a dog. And I. I can’t give… I never could give him…”

Maybe without the headache building in my skull this would be easier to hear. But I can’t bring myself to sit on her couch and listen to her listing her failings as a romantic partner.

I cut her off.

“Carter. You have a mind the size of Texas. And you’re committed to doing a job so difficult it sometimes feels impossible. So what if you’re a cat person? Anyone would be lucky to have one tenth the person you are as a partner.”

She glances up, but my words have only turned her eyes stormier.

When she speaks on, her fingers clutch at her opposite elbows, protecting her body.

Pegasus stiffens on my lap.

“It’s not about cats and dogs, sir. Pete, he put up with a lot that a guy shouldn’t have to.”

The blackness from last night rises in my spine and twists words out of me before I can control them.

“Any man who dares think you are something to put up with deserves to choke on his own vomit, Sam.”

Her head flashes up, consternation-filled. Her words are shrill with tension.

“You don’t know, sir! I’m good at my job, but I’m terrible at sex!”

She crumples over her legs, muffling the shame and horror in her tone as she speaks on.

“It’s painful and it makes me panic and no man should put up with a partner who’s scared of sex, but he did.”

All the air rushes out of the room. All that’s left is the sound of a growl. Pegasus slinks off my lap and onto hers. Only when he moves, I realise the sound is coming from me.

My hands are impotent fists, fighting for control.

“He told you that? Told you he was a hero for demanding something from you that caused you fear and pain?”

I barely recognise the harsh scrape of a voice that escapes me.

She folds herself smaller. Her voice is high and breathy. For the first time in eight years, she sounds younger than she is.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I just wanted you to understand.”

I can’t stay sitting down. I slam to standing, stamp across the room.

“There’s nothing _to_ understand, Sam! Your body is yours. We could be _married_ and I’d _still_ have no right to demand anything from you, no matter what your reasons are! And knowing that it’s painful for you? What the fuck!”

Two sets of eyes watch me as I pace obsessively. I can’t breathe under the wariness in Peg’s yellow eyes or the pain in hers.

More words bubble out, riding the wave of blackness that crushes my spine.

I rip my t-shirt over my head, point a shaking finger at the star-shaped scar that Ba’al burnt into me so many times even a sarcophagus could not erase it.

“Do you see this, Sam? Do you?”

“You were tortured,” she whispers.

“He inflicted pain on my body, knowingly. For his own pleasure. It was an act of war, Sam. An act of fucking war.”

I try to soften my voice for her, to place the care beneath my horror into my words.

“Your body is nobody’s battleground.”

She shakes her head, sorrow and shame colliding in the grim set of her mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“No. No you don’t get to say that.”

The feelings pouring out of my mouth won’t bend to my control. I clench my hand around them but they stream on.

“I love you more than anything in the world, Sam. But I’m human. I can take torture. But—“ the finger that pointed to my scar points to her heart “—but I cannot stand by and let you apologise to me for pain inflicted by someone who was supposed to love you. I’m not strong enough for that.”

The growling is back, low and menacing, an undercurrent to my words.

But this time it doesn’t come from me.

Pegasus sits on her lap, his body spread to cover as much of her as he can. His eyes focus on my pointing finger with trembling fury.

The blackness snaps shut over my head.

What have I done?

She trusted me enough to tell me that.

What the fuck have I done?

Mist obscures my vision.

“I’m sorry, Pegasus. You’re right. I’ll go.”

Half-blind, sock-footed, I stumble through the front door and out into the darkness of the night to scream my pain.

—oOo—

The moon has traced a silent hour across the sky.

The blood on my knuckles has dried after I beat my fists against the trunk of the sycamore I now slump against.

The autumn air chills my bare chest, but my cold skin does nothing to slow the words looping around my thudding heart.

_I love you more than anything in the world, Sam. We could be married._

I’ve dreamt of saying those words to her, in the moonlight, by the cabin. Of taking her face in my hands and kissing her.

Instead, I spewed them at her in anger.

I don’t have the energy to move. I can’t leave, not now. Not like this. But I don’t have the right to be near her after what I’ve done.

The porch light flicks on, and she steps out, hunting for me in the shadows.

Slowly, she crosses the lawn towards me.

Her arms are tightly folded around her waist, but she stands tall.

It’s just one of the million things I admire about her. Her ability to stand up straight and face fear with grace.

“The Simpsons is about to start. And I think Peg needs couch time with you. You’re his dad. Growling at you can’t be the last thing he remembers about tonight.”

She pauses, unravels one arm, holds out her hand to help me up.

“I’ve ordered pizza. He says he’ll forgive you if you give him some of the bacon from yours.”

Forgiveness.

She’s offering forgiveness.

I bury my head in my hands.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.”

She sinks onto her haunches in front of me, wraps her hands around mine. By the light from the porch, I can see her flinching when she touches my raw knuckles.

There’s still sadness in the lines of her mouth, But her eyes hold fire.

“No, Jack.” She speaks my name slowly, deliberately.

“No. If I don’t get to apologise, neither do you. Come, let me clean your hands before the pizza arrives.”

The woman who leads me back into her house is different from the one who watched our cat run towards me at the door an hour and a half ago. She’s silent, serious. But her hand remains in mine.

When we sink onto the couch, my knuckles wrapped in gauze, she settles with her leg pressed against me.

I dutifully feed every scrap of bacon on my first slice of pizza to Peg, before she laughs and warns me that there’s a line between apology and bribery and I’m about to cross it.

When The Simpsons ends and I say goodnight to a mollified, purring cat with bacon breath, she walks me to the door.

She pauses when she gets there.

I can’t hide my sadness from her. Not even if I try.

I’m unspeakably grateful that she is trying to forgive me. But I ache for her pain. And I hate myself for my reaction.

Slowly, she reaches her arms around me and pulls me into a long embrace.

Then she steps back and holds the door open for me to leave.


	11. Kintsugi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kintsugi.” I speak the Japanese term softly, because I cannot trust my voice. “The art of mending cracks with gold, and making broken things more valuable than they were when they were whole.”
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been fascinated by the very short exchange between Jack and Sam when they initiate the self-destruct sequence near the end of Threads.
> 
> This chapter is set around that scene.
> 
> And you get to decide if it's the final chapter in their story or not...
> 
> \--oOo--

We’re together all day, but we’re never alone.

On a day when I would murder a minor system lord for five minutes to mooch into her lab and smooth over at least some of the damage that my stupid outburst last night caused, we’re surrounded by Jaffa and generals, and decisions take up all our time.

Twice, I catch her eyes holding mine across the briefing room table while someone else is talking.

Her irises are murky grey-green today, but her face is open, trusting.

It lifts my heart, even as it plunges me deeper into guilt.

Twice, I realise too late the person speaking has asked me something and I missed every word they’ve said while I stared back at her.

Eventually, yet another meeting ends and I escape.

“General,” her voice stops me at the door to my office while the others file out of the briefing room, “may I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, Carter.”

I hold the door to my office open, a frown creasing the spot between my eyes where yesterday’s headache still lingers.

As it clicks shut behind me and encloses us in the quiet space, she takes a small black box out from under the briefing folder and her note book.

“If I can’t apologise, can I say thank you?”

She holds the box out to me.

Guilt rushes through me, colouring my cheeks.

“Sam, I behaved appallingly. God, what could you possibly thank me for?”

She shakes her head, a small, quick movement. Her eyes burn into me.

Her voice is soft and low, and colour rises in her cheeks, too. But she is determined. Centered. Sure.

“You said that I’m okay. To love.” Her eyes drop down to her hands, to the box. “Even like this. Take it, please.”

Wordlessly, I lift the lid.

Inside, a tiny, ash coloured ceramic bowl only an inch in diameter rests on a bed of straw. It is shot through with veins of glistening gold.

I lift it onto the palm of my hand to catch the light.

“Kintsugi.” I speak the Japanese term softly, because I cannot trust my voice. “The art of mending cracks with gold, and making broken things more valuable than they were when they were whole.”

She’s watching me when I raise my head from the bowl in my hand.

Her lips purse together, a sign of nervousness I know so well. But she doesn’t look away.

And then the gate lights up from off-world, and all hell breaks loose.

In the control room, five minutes later, I tell her to initiate the self-destruct sequence.

“Sir,” she questions, but her eyes don’t hold a challenge, they hold trust. And regret.

“Carter,” I answer. And a bystander would see me telling her to execute my order.

But I pray she realises I’m saying _I know. I’m so grateful I got to tell you I love you._

Time slows as the counter rushes towards zero.

But in my pocket, my fingers caress a small ash coloured bowl shot through with gold, and I’m at peace with what must come.

—oOo—

All afternoon, after the self-destruct sequence pauses and the gate breach ceases, after Daniel falls out of his diner in the sky, I drift through the SGC with a smile on my face and a small bowl in my pocket.

I leave it in my locker when I change and clock out for the night.

We haven’t spoken, but my hands steer my truck to her house instead of mine.

Like last night, a golden glow of light through open curtains beckons me in.

I hesitate at the front door. What if she’s invited Daniel over?

Oh, well. I can say I came to check on my cat.

Just then, a thunder of paws gallops towards me on the other side of the door, and a hoarse meow greets me, followed by a loving chuckle.

The door opens, and she’s standing in front of me, an oversized grey sweater slipping off one shoulder.

Peg’s on his back paws, reaching up my legs, indignant at my attention being focused on anyone but him.

“Okay, little buddy, okay,” I grumble while I lift him into my arms and his angry mews turn into contented chirps, “but only for a minute. I’m here for yer mom tonight, as captivating as your conversation may be.”

She steps in closer.

Close enough to kiss.

Her lips are slightly parted.

Her hand comes to rest on the back of my neck.

Her lips press into mine.

Slowly, tenderly, she parts my lips with her tongue.

She pulls away, a shy flush on her cheeks.

“I love you too, Jack,” she whispers.

“Thank you for not blowing up the base before I got to tell you that.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unicorns, you have been SO wonderful about this idea of mine.
> 
> "Love, and other animals", the OC RomCom, is being built in NaNoWriMo land with your comments, suggestions and likes as inspiration.
> 
> And because I feel like abusing your good nature, I have one more question: is this a good place to leave them (and the characters in the novel) or do you want to know more about how they navigate life as a couple, including how they navigate her dyspareunia?
> 
> I'm torn: on the one hand I want to tell women who experience the same as Sam that we are okay, just a we are, and that you can have a wonderful and fulfilling and sexy partnership even if you suffer from dyspareunia (a syndrome with various causes that can make sex incredibly painful for women).  
> On the other hand I want to leave the romance to speak for itself.
> 
> So give me your vote, if you don'r mind?  
> \- Speak to us about real life!  
> Or  
> \- Less is more! Leave them at the bedroom door!
> 
> As always, I am in awe of your generosity, your kindness, and your support.
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my boots.

**Author's Note:**

> Unicorns, will you help me?
> 
> Sam and Jack's story will grow to around 15,000 words, I guess, but it's given me an idea to build a full-length OC novel out of it. The characters will be civilians, so readers who don't know Pegasus won't know. 
> 
> BUT
> 
> I want to expand on the very best bits to make it an awesome novel about love and cats...
> 
> So this is where you come in.
> 
> As you read, please let me know which bits you particularly loved and would like to see more of? I'll use your feedback to build my novel.
> 
> Thank you so much!


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